Yuán fèn: (yuu-on-fehn) n.
Fate or chance that brings people together.
Predestined affinity or relationship, destiny.
'~ooo000OOO(*~~*)OOO000ooo~'
There was an old legend that spoke of the beginning. At that time, human beings had two hearts and two souls, each completely opposite and exactly balancing out the other. For many years, the world was at peace.
There was a young wizard whose left heart had always been weak. On his twenty-first year, it sputtered and finally fell silent. The second soul fled into the abyss. Although he survived the half-death, he became violent, unbalanced and hateful. In the end, the wizard, mad with grief and desperate that the people around him understood why, devised a spell to separate each human into two separate people who would be born at the same moment anywhere on Earth. Each one with one of their hearts; two people completely opposite and constantly searching for the other. Now they would know loss.
The spell went out, and when everyone woke up the next morning, their other half was gone. They were left with nothing but an eternal longing for their counterbalance. The world became chaotic just like the man. People went insane without their second soul. Violence reigned and no one knew how to fix the problem.
But then a wise wizard devised a counterspell. It would not reverse the dark wizard's work but it would lessen the impact. On the twenty-first birthday, the same day the dark wizard's heart died, of every man and woman, the first name of their counterbalance would be revealed to them in a dream. It wasn't a perfect fix, and the wise wizard admitted it. But now there was a small chance that some people would find their opposites once more.
The spell was dubbed Yuanfen.
'~ooo000OOO(*~~*)OOO000ooo~'
Sherlock decided a very long time ago that he would ignore the Yuanfen. He didn't believe the story. It was ridiculous. Two hearts, as if. He was a scientist.
Mass hallucination was more likely. Or a conspiracy. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Something.
On his twenty-first birthday, when he learned the name of the man or woman he was bound with; his opposite; his best friend or ultimate enemy, Sherlock swore never to search; never think about him or her. It was pointless and irrational and probably not even real. He did not have need of friends. He had his work. He had his intellect. That was all he needed.
Most people waited eagerly for the night that they would turn twenty-one. Sherlock did not. They'd fall asleep after a nervous evening, and their opposite's name was revealed in a breathlessly vivid dream. Some people spent their entire lives in wonder over this dream, constantly searching for their counterbalance. In some, the connection was so strong that as time went on, they swore they could feel what their opposite felt from anywhere the globe.
How ridiculous.
Sherlock was determined that it would have no impact on him at all. The Yuanfen would not control him[ if he dreamed it at all.] He didn't deal with sentiment. No.
Dealing with murder was much easier.
But…
He hadn't expected the dream to be like this.
Sherlock's was decidedly bored on his twenty-first birthday. Mother insisted on a small party which ended up being quite large and showy, and Sherlock snuck out the back as soon as he could. He walked home with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Breath hanging in the air, he fumbled with the key lock and finally managed to let himself inside of his flat. Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, was gone on vacation, and Sherlock was glad of it. He didn't think he could handle her chattering right now.
Alright. Maybe he was a bit more nervous than he planned to be. It's not going to happen. It's not real. Wrinkling his nose at his own weakness, Sherlock hung up his coat, stomped up the stairs, and dropped onto his couch with pursed lips. His fingers twitched for a cigarette. He was not worried.
Nor was he even curious.
"Sentiment." With a yawn, Sherlock stood to work on an experiment currently habitating his microwave but fell backward onto the couch quite unexpectedly. He frowned, suddenly drowsy. Was this supposed to happen?
He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Ah," he murmured, "Twelve o'clock." Vaguely, he remembered someone mentioning forced sleepiness past twelve on the twenty-first birthday but he couldn't quite remember. Was that real, then? Yawning hugely, Sherlock let his eyes flutter closed. The hand in the microwave needed a few more hours to pickle anyhow.
'~ooo000OOO(*~~*)OOO000ooo~'
It had been weeks since John last consciously registered the date. Everything was a blur of injuries and medicine and war and fire and achingly stressful nights as they waited for all hell to break loose. As a medical assistant, John was kept busy constantly.
So it was no wonder he was surprised the night of his twenty-first birthday arrived. He was relieved from duty and went to bed utterly exhausted. John rarely remembered his dreams, and when he did, they were vague and disjointed.
The Yuanfen was neither.
It started out dark. He was looking down at himself sleeping in a one man tent, but then the world blurred. He caught glimpses of tangled strings of light, and it was achingly beautiful as he sped through the air. He was aware of a sickening sense of movement, and he flew across the sky. Farther and farther away until he stopped in a city.
Which city? No idea.
There was a blue door, and he rushed through it without regard to physics. Up some stairs and then he was in a flat. He caught a glimpse of a dark form, sleeping on a couch.
Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock
'~ooo000OOO(*~~*)OOO000ooo~'
Across the globe, at exactly the same instant, Sherlock Holmes jumped awake.
It was morning, and his mouth tasted metallic.
Groaning, he sat up creakily and ground the bases of his palms onto his eyes. That was… interesting.
Suddenly, he flinched as reality bled into his skull. His hands fell from his eyes.
He'd dreamed it.
The Yuanfen. It was real.
Sherlock scowled at the ground. Had he really believed it wasn't? If the entire world spoke of the same event, had it been illogical of him to insist that it was fake?
But perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. He expected it, so it came.
It sure hadn't felt like a dream.
Sherlock shook the thought away, and the vision crept up behind him instead, filling his attention.
It had started out slow and build up momentum until he hurtled across the sky and shot into a dark green tent. He caught a flash of blonde and then the name whispered softly around him over and over again. John.
That was it.
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Rather anticlimactic," he muttered.
HELLO GUYS! So, I've been cooking this one for a few months. Almost finished with it, so updates should be pretty fast. This was one of those things that was going to be ten pages at the most... but... it just sort of... took me hostage?
To be clear (Because I always appreciate a warning when I'm reading FF) This is a platonic John and Sherlock story, not a soul mate ship-thing. Never really been a fan of Johnlock (shoot me if you must. I'll remember to fall backward.) So. Yeah. Leave a REVIEW, please? It makes life a bit brighter :) Continue being awesome people, Season 4 is on its way!